


Where Silence Has Come to Lick Its Wounds

by p1013



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Hand Jobs, Multi, No Dialogue, POV Harry Potter, Porn with Feelings, Ron Weasley Sex God, Sort Of, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23809738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1013/pseuds/p1013
Summary: When he comes back to the Horcrux hunt, Ron asks if Harry still wants him, iftheystill want him, and it's a cold shock almost worse than the frozen lake around Harry's body that Ron might consider the answer is anything other thanyesorpleaseornever leave us again.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter/Ron Weasley
Comments: 34
Kudos: 252





	Where Silence Has Come to Lick Its Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> Basically slot this in between the end of Chapter Nineteen and the beginning of Chapter Twenty of Deathly Hallows, and you'll see what I'm getting at.

When he comes back to the Horcrux hunt, Ron asks if Harry still wants him, if _they_ still want him, and it's a cold shock almost worse than the frozen lake around Harry's body that Ron might consider the answer is anything other than _yes_ or _please_ or _never leave us again_. Of course, Hermione puts that all to the test by trying her best to beat Ron bloody, but even that is just another way of her saying _how dare you leave me, leave us_ and _I love you_ and _we need you_.

When night falls, though, they all slide into a heavy silence. The inside of the tent is dark and a little cold, their beds hard and achingly empty. Harry isn't sure who's the first to move, but Hermione shifts, her breathing low and loud, and then she rises and walks, barefoot, to Ron's bunk. He makes space for her in the curl of his arm, pulls the blankets tight around them, and she places her head in the crook of his shoulder. She's an indistinct blur of hair and shaking shoulders, and Harry wishes he could do something, anything, to ease the ache between them.

Ron catches his eyes, and they're so blue in the darkness. There's an entreaty there, a silent demand for comfort, for connection. Harry won't be able to explain it later, but that single look from Ron rings with Harry's unspoken name. He slides from the top bunk, then crawls in on Hermione's other side, so that she's sandwiched between the two of them. He wraps his arm around her waist, lets his hand rest in the dip of Ron's, and they tangle their legs together beneath the blankets.

The noise of the forest is quiet around them. Creatures walking through the underbrush. Trees creaking in the wind. In the tent, the sound of their breathing, a quiet counterpoint in three parts. Their bodies warm beneath the blankets. Heat gathers under Harry's skin, under his arm, under his palm. Hermione shifts between them, lifts her head to look at Ron. She places her hand on the curve of his jaw, lets her thumb stroke slowly over the freckled arch of his cheekbone, dip into the corner of his eye, drag across the curve of his ear. Ron closes his eyes, opens his mouth, breathes.

Harry isn't sure what he should do when Hermione leans forward to kiss the corner of Ron's mouth. His hand tightens on Ron's waist when Ron moans. Ron's hands move from under the blankets to tangle with Hermione's hair, to pull her closer, to deepen the kiss. Her body shifts beneath Harry's arm as she moves closer to Ron, but Harry's legs are still tangled with both of theirs, so he's pulled closer, too, helpless to do anything else.

Ron and Hermione kiss like they're starved for each other. It's vicious and violent, but as their mouths fight for dominance, as their fingers scrabble and bite at each other's skin, it softens, eases. It's like grief, bleeding out. Harry aches as he watches, unable to turn away even though he knows he should.

Ron's eyes open, catch Harry's. He pulls a hand from Hermione's hair, places it on the nape of Harry's neck, slides his fingers into the unruly curls there. Harry shivers, but not from cold, as Ron presses Harry's forehead to the back of Hermione's head and keeps kissing her. Hermione's hand on Harry's thigh is another shock, and he jerks with it, pressing his hips into the softness of Hermione's bottom. His mouth opens, and he finds himself pressing his lips to the curve of her neck almost before he realizes it, Ron's hand an insistent pressure drawing Harry closer.

They move against each other, slow undulations like waves cresting and falling only to rise again. It's so warm. Everything Harry touches burns him, but he's drawn to the fire, unable to stop himself from seeking more of that exquisite pain.

He slides his hand under the hem of Ron's shirt, no longer tentative, only hungry. Ron's waist is warm and hard, and as Harry's fingers trail over Ron's skin, he shudders, presses forward with his hips into Hermione until she moans between them, her head thrown back and turning for Harry.

He kisses her, and it's nothing like the Horcrux versions of themselves he saw earlier that day. There's no rush, no frantic display. There's love, a deep-seated thing that he can't fully describe or explain, even to himself. He knows he said she was like a sister to him, but she isn't; she's something more. The ache in his chest as he trails his lips across her mouth, as he slides his tongue past her lips to meet hers, as Ron puts his hand on Hermione's chin to guide her deeper into Harry's kiss, it guts him. He pulls back, presses a kiss to Ron's hand. Ron gasps, then presses his thumb to the bow of Harry's mouth, slides it inside so that Harry can bite at it, suck the salt from Ron's skin, feel his hand shake.

Hermione rolls onto her back, draws Ron and Harry closer. Ron's hand falls from Harry's mouth, slides to his neck before Ron pulls Harry's mouth to his own. It's soft at first, then more heated. Harry is flooded with desperation, and he groans, hanging over Hermione's body as he kisses Ron, and Ron kisses him back.

Distantly, distractedly, Harry realizes that Hermione is slipping from her shirt beneath them. It lands somewhere on the floor, and Harry's drawn to the expanse of her body, the shock of her off-white bra against her dark skin. She doesn't look shy, though, while he and Ron stare. Instead, she grins, warm and open, and he's reminded of a bushy-haired girl on a train, of the brilliant, vibrant witch by his side through danger after danger, and he's overwhelmed and panting, burning.

Ron presses open-mouthed kisses along the cord of her neck and the arch of her collarbone, and Harry lets his hand trail over the soft curve of her waist. She can't seem to decide which touch to lean into, so her body twists, twines with theirs, pressing up against both of them in a sinuous wave. Harry leans forward, mouth and tongue trailing over the curve of her breast, and he slides a finger under the pad of her bra, drawing it down until her nipple is bared and caught between his teeth. She groans, and Ron catches it with his mouth, and the two of them draw sounds of pleasure from her body with careful, tender touches and hard, biting kisses. Fingers thread through his hair, and Harry can't tell if Hermione is trying to pull him closer or push him away.

Someone undoes the clasp of her bra, and she slides it down her arms, throws it to join her shirt on the ground. Harry sits up just enough to slip from his own clothes, leaving him in a thin pair of boxers. Ron's gaze is hot enough to sting as it grazes across Harry's chest, and then he's also removing his shirt. When they press together, all three of them touching and kissing — though Harry isn't sure which of them his lips and hands are on, or even if they're on the same person at all — the slide of skin against skin makes his dick ache and pound. He grinds it against Hermione's hip, arches towards Ron's, and they both sigh, low and quiet and full of promise.

Ron drags his lips from Hermione's mouth to her other breast, and Harry pulls away to watch Ron lose himself to the taste of her skin. Her eyes are half-lidded, expression heated and fuzzy, and she threads her fingers in Ron's hair, holding him closer, as her other hand reaches for Harry's and places it over the front of her knickers. Harry lets his fingers press against her, a gentle, insistent pressure that has her eyes closing, her fingers tightening in Ron's hair.

When he slips past the elastic of her waistband, he finds her soft and wet. His fingers skate over her pubic hair, then dip lower, spreading her lips and finding the hard nub of her clitoris. She gasps as he presses against it, still gentle, and works his finger in slow, easy circles. Her hips rise and fall with his fingers, almost imperceptible, and Ron shifts his hips so he's moving with her, too, all three of them in rhythm together. When he slides his fingers deeper, eases first one, then a second, inside of her, she throws her head back, gasping and finally wiggling free of her knickers.

Harry and Ron wait for her to finish moving before they both remove their pants. Naked, the three of them look at each other in the darkness of the tent, Hermione reclined on the bunk, Ron raised on his bent arm, Harry sitting. Their lips are swollen, cheeks heated, eyes wide and bright. Harry takes in Ron's lithe strength, the lanky lines of him, the way his cock stands up, hard and flushed, from a nest of red curls. He draws his eyes across Hermione's dark skin, the soft curves of her body rising and falling in delicate hills and valleys. They do the same, and he feels it like a touch, their eyes coasting across his body. He shudders.

Slowly, Hermione bends one of her legs, opening herself while Ron's hand skates the length of her body and settles over her cunt. Involuntarily, her hips rise into the touch, and Harry leans in, kisses her while Ron's fingers spread her wide, then slide inside. Harry stays focused on Hermione's mouth, the way it moves beneath his, the warmth of her breath. She shivers and gasps, and he swallows them down, his hand pressed to her breast, his palm rubbing against the hard point of her nipple. Ron works his fingers in and out of her in a slow, torturous tempo until she's nearly crying from it, her body pliant and desperate beneath them.

Harry pulls back, looks into Ron's fevered gaze, and leans forward to kiss him. His hand wraps around the back of Ron's neck, drags him over Hermione's body. Harry moves back, makes room, and then Ron settles in the vee of Hermione's spread legs, his cock pressed against the curls of her pubic hair. It twitches when Harry wraps his fingers around it. Ron's thicker than Harry is, though perhaps not as long. It doesn't really matter right now because Harry's pressing the crown of Ron's cock against Hermione's cunt, sliding the head between her wet lips, until Ron's hips buck forward and it breaches her. Harry keeps his fingers wrapped around Ron's cock until he can't anymore, and he pulls away, his hand wet.

Ron settles as deep as he can inside of Hermione, then presses his forehead to hers, eyes closed, mouth panting and open. They kiss as Ron fucks in and out of her, his tempo slow and unhurried, though Hermione's hands tighten on Ron's arse, urging him faster. They rise and fall together, and Harry can't breathe, caught off-guard by the beauty of them together, like this, as if they're one soul in two bodies. His pulse throbs, low and deep, and while he could touch himself, could do something to ease the ache, he watches instead.

Hermione reaches between her legs, fingers rubbing against her clitoris in time to Ron's thrusts. Moaning, head thrown back, she shivers and shudders, cries out. It's the first real sound they've made since starting, and it seems to shock Ron who stills, stops, stares as Hermione comes apart beneath him. She falls back to the bed. Panting, loose, limber, eyes half-lidded. Her right hand, no longer tucked between her legs, reaches for Ron, draws him towards Harry, guides Ron where she wants him to go.

Harry's always trusted Hermione's knowledge before, so he doesn't question it now. Instead, Harry lets Ron push him to his back. Ron slides from Hermione with an almost pained gasp, then ruts against Harry's hip before kissing him. Ron's hand is rough and calloused as it wraps around both of them, and Harry thrusts up into the too tight grip, loving the sting. He's already close, uncertain when his desire drew so near the breaking point. Ron's length pressed against his own, Ron's fingers brushing against the wetness leaking from Harry's tip, Ron's body weight pressing him into the bed, it overwhelms him. When Hermione's fingers brush against his nipple, then pinch with vicious intensity, he cries out into Ron's mouth, comes over Ron's fist, bucks against Ron's muscled form.

Harry falls back onto the bed. Ears ringing, he watches Hermione take Ron's come-covered hand in hers to lick it clean, slipping his long, agile fingers between her lips before sucking at them, long and slow. Ron shudders, stares at her as if she's something new and precious. Moving almost as one, Harry and Hermione push Ron to his back, get comfortable on either side of him, and then reach for his cock.

Their fingers tangle together, wet from Hermione's spit and Ron's precome. Hermione and Harry take turns kissing Ron, letting him shift his mouth from one to the other. Hermione nuzzles into the curve of Ron's jaw, bites at the hinge there while Harry tangles his tongue with Ron's. His blue eyes are blazing, darting from Harry's face to Hermione's. He raises one hand to each of their faces, cups them soft and delicate, tangles his fingers in their hair and pulls them close. It stings. Not just the pressure of Ron's fingers in Harry's hair, or the way that Hermione's head bumps against his, but the way that desperate touch rips through Harry's body to dig into his heart. It stings, and he has to fight against joyful, relieved tears as his hand, fingers entwined with Hermione's, work over Ron's cock.

He doesn't make noise when he comes. His body bows beneath theirs, his hips stuttering into Harry and Hermione's hands. Come spatters over Ron's lower stomach, catches Harry's hip, lands on the curve of Hermione's waist. His hands gentle in their hair. Arms wrap around Harry's shoulders, around Hermione's, and even though they're all sweaty and sticky, they crowd together as close as they can. Their legs tangle again, Ron underneath them this time, and Harry breathes in the smell of his skin, of Hermione's hair, of home and friendship and love, and falls asleep like that, blankets kicked to the bottom of the bed, skin already prickling from cold.

In the morning, with sunrise making its hazy way through the material of the tent, Harry peels himself away from the still sleeping Ron. Hermione is nowhere to be found, so he shrugs into his clothes, wincing a little at the way his skin feels. Not for the first time, he wishes he had his wand, then remembers Ron's spare, and quickly _Scourgifies_ himself clean.

Hermione is outside. She's wrapped in a too-big sweater, her breath fogging the air. Sensing something of her mood, Harry pulls her into a hug. Her arms stay crossed, but she leans into him, forehead resting in the crook of his neck. They don't speak for a long time, and Harry watches the sun filter through the trees, doing little to banish the cold or the gloom around them.

Once Ron wakes up, it's like the night before never happened. Hermione is still furious. Ron is so polite, it makes Harry's teeth hurt. But when it's just the two of them — Harry and Ron, or Harry and Hermione — they share looks that acknowledge, that accept, that move on. Whatever that night was between them, it doesn't solve their greater problems, doesn't push away the challenge still facing them. But when Harry's lying in the dark, staring at the top of the tent unseeing, it does ease something in his chest.

 _At least_ , he thinks, _we're together._

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing straight sex, and BOY HOWDY. Waaaay different from writing slash, let me tell you. Thank you, as always, to the lovely Nat and Bella for their cheerleading and head patting. Couldn't do it without you, honestly.


End file.
